The One That Got Away
by Unicorninthenight
Summary: A series of connected drabbles about what could have happened. Main pairing: Wulfgar/Drizzt, with a bit of Entreri/Drizzt. Also, just the first three chapters contain Berg'inyon/Drizzt, Drizzt/Kellindil and one-sided Drizzt/Zak. He's not as much of a slut as he sounds like, and the stories can be read separately or together. Also, MAJOR SPOILERS EVERYWHERE.
1. The Father He Never Had

**A/N: All right. This chapter will be a bit misleading. Please, take into account that Drizzt doesn't know that Zak is his father – all will work out, and I promise, no incest. Also, as this series follows the books very closely, there will be MAJOR SPOILERS for things like character death and pretty much the entire plot of some of the books. Don't want them, don't read this fic.**

Drizzt Do'Urden stood impatiently at his mother's side, his bare chest puffed out as much as it could be. He knew that the coming moments were to be important, at least as much as when his mother had declared that he was no longer a page prince. He was to meet the famed weapons master of their house – a man who he had but heard of, but who had made an impression on him nonetheless. Anyone else who seemed to hold any kind of power within the house was invariably female, but Zaknafein, or so he had heard, had a commanding presence and was bold and daring in battle, and was so respected. Drizzt wanted to prove his worth to such a rare drow as him.

He strained his sensitive ears and could hear his sister Vierna approaching, and talking to a male, who, he reasoned, must have been Zaknafein himself!

Vierna entered the room, completing the presence of his whole family, and behind her stood the male. Even in the lightless anteroom, Drizzt could tell from his heat signature that he was well muscled, and moved with a certain fluidity that suggested complete confidence. He was so entranced with the weapons master, whose long hair and chiseled face stole a new kind of admiration from the young drow, that he nearly missed it when his sister announced that the male was, indeed, Zaknafein.

Drizzt could suddenly feel Zaknafein's glowing eyes staring into him, and that alone made him grin and nearly shiver with an exotic, terrifying sense of elation. He was faintly aware that Briza had performed some sort of ritual when he, against all reason, spoke aloud to the mesmerizing man, "Greetings, Zaknafein Do'Urden. I am Drizzt, secondboy of House Do'Urden, no more the page prince. I can look at you now – I mean your eyes and not your boots." _And glad I am for that, as I would be sorry not to see such eyes as those_, "Mother told me so."

In mentioning her, he looked up to the woman who had allowed him to gaze upon such a treasure, and saw in her face a burning fury, directed at him. He forced his dazed smile to vanish, and feared slightly for his life in disrespecting her so. Even so, he was glad to have spoken, for Zaknafein seemed to be impressed with him, though his sisters were completely dumbfounded.

Just to be on the safe side, Drizzt side-stepped once away and bit down on his lip to stop that infectious smile from returning. Zaknafein stepped forward and _by Lolth, those arms could crush anything so stupid or enamoured to wander between them._

"Secondboy?" _He's referring to me, his voice sounds like a bittersweet prayer and what would my name sound like, tumbling from those lips?_ "Then it is time for you to train."

His mother spoke then, her own words sounding insignificant and annoying after those of the male, "Only the basics at your hand, Zaknafein. If Drizzt is to replace Nalfein, his place at the Academy will be in Sorcere. Thus the bulk of his preparation will fall upon Rizzen and his knowledge, limited though it may be, of the magical arts."

"Are you so certain that wizardry is his lot, Matron?" _If it means that I get to spend more time with him, I am certain that it is not!_

Zaknafein and Malice exchanged words that Drizzt listened not to, and Zak threw him coins to toss. More and more, he piled upon the secondboy's palms, and Drizzt caught them all, determined to prove himself worthy of whatever Zaknafein had to teach him. When he had five coins in each hand, he tossed them up, panicked momentarily, and then flashed into motion, catching each and every one. His heart thundered within his chest and his grin caused him to literally glow in the infrared spectrum, as he showed his handiwork to the man.

Zaknafein whistled his appreciation, and walked over to Drizzt's mother, for the third time naming him, "Two-hands."

Matron Malice conceded to the will of the weapons master, and Drizzt was to be entrusted to Zak. It made him giddy with excitement. Only afterward was the secondboy able to calm himself and wonder why he risked punishment for a man he'd never before met – why, for that matter, he had felt so strongly for him. He likened it to what his sisters must feel for their mother, and named it a natural feeling towards those that any drow looked up to.

He could not, however, explain the strange dreams that he had in the following nights; dreams that involved he and Zaknafein.

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They had sparred together for two years, a time which seemed like it would not, and should never end. Drizzt had by then learned to rein in his feelings for Zak, and had also early on come to realize that those feelings were far from standard, that they signified something very different from simple respect. The young drow had the common sense not to act upon such things.

The long day was coming to a close, and Drizzt was putting away his weapons, having changed into clothes unsoiled by the day's training when he heard behind him the faint sound of muffled footsteps. He turned to see who might be in the room, but before he could register the face, he was pulled into a headlock. It was Zaknafein, so he was unperturbed, but nonetheless he tried with all his might to break free.

After a few seconds of struggle, he felt a dark finger run across his throat, accompanied by the voice of his teacher, "You are dead."

Zak let him go, and the secondboy rubbed his neck, protesting, "But, we are finished training for today. You caught me unawares. It was unfair."

The weapons master raised a white eyebrow, his expression showing that he was not impressed, "First, we never stop training. Second, I should never catch you unawares, because your guard should never be let down – you have no way of knowing when an enemy might strike. Third, nothing is fair. Ask any drow, and they will tell you that I was in the right, and that I came out better."

Drizzt rolled his lavender eyes, "Yes, but you are also stronger than I am, you have more experience than I do, and I was distracted." _I was too busy thinking about your voice, and if you don't stop talking, I might just have to –_

"Drizzt." _Oh, why would you say my name like that?_ "That is why you are training with me."

He opened his mouth to utter a sharp retort, but then bit it back as he thought better. Zak was right, and they both knew it. As much as Drizzt had other priorities regarding his teacher, his first responsibility was to be a student.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you're intrigued, because the second chapter will be up soon. Please review, all feedback is welcome, but please don't hate.**


	2. The First and the One Who Might Have

Chapter 2: The First and the One Who Should Have Been – Berg'inyon and Zak

**A/N: This is the only chapter with Berg'inyon and the last with Zak. Also, this chapter is M for more reasons than the previous one. Spoilers for Homeland.**

They were supposed to be asleep. Drizzt didn't know how it all started, but he suspected that it had been the thrill of the fight, that Berg'inyon had been the closest to an equal that he had found in the grand melee. The Baenre boy had looked into his eyes the same way that Briza looked at Malice – _Matron_ Malice – which was a strange mixture of hatred, jealousy, respect and a type of lust for her power.

It was the closest thing that either of them were going to get to love for at least their ten years at the Academy, and possibly indefinitely in the terrifying place that was Menzoberranzan. They hadn't said a word to each other, with or without the hand code, but they had managed to communicate that they were going to hold on to it.

Drizzt was below him, mostly out of courtesy; Berg'inyon was of the highest-ranking house, and most likely had no real interest in other males. The situation had arisen, and they were going to take advantage of it. Berg'inyon had at first been confused when Drizzt had lain down, assuming that he had meant to play the role of the male (for that was how the females almost always took men), but all had become clear when the boy had told him, as loudly as he dared, to enter him.

Berg'inyon, as inexperienced with males as he was, still understood that it would be exceedingly difficult to get any pleasure from the experience if Drizzt was completely unprepared. He took a salve for bruises from his _piwafwi_ on the ground near them, and applied some generously to his straining cock. They were, however, impatient and confused and wanted to get it over with.

Without a word of warning, Berg'inyon pushed inside Drizzt. The secondboy managed not to cry out by biting down on the back of his own wrist, and tried desperately not to moan as the other male thrust inside him mercilessly. Their bodies were already slick from the heat and each other, and there was a faint slapping noise every time Berg'inyon entered him, a sound that could have easily alerted any drow in the area of their presence and exact activity.

In the moment, they couldn't have cared less. Drizzt could sense that the Baenre boy would not last long, and so started pumping his own shaft in time. His legs ached from being so quickly spread, and his back arched above the stone floor below them.

In his moment of release, Drizzt thought of Zaknafein, whispering his name softly as Berg'inyon said the name of, probably, some priestess. They never spoke of it, only silently slipped back into their beds later that night once they were spent twice. It became something of a ritual for them over the years.

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"I killed no elves that day," Drizzt said to him. "The only ones I desired to kill were my own companions!"

The words hit Zaknafein harder than Drizzt's boot had. The weapons master threw his swords to the ends of the room and rushed in on Drizzt. He buried him in a hug so intense that it took the young drow a long moment to even realize what had happened.

"You have survived!" Zaknafein said to him, his voice broken by muffled tears. "Survived the Academy, where all the others died!"

The boy was somewhat taken aback, and suddenly all of his emotions from before his time at the Academy came rushing back. The man's acceptance went straight to his heart, skipping his mind altogether. His whole body urged him on, and Drizzt turned his head to whisper into his ear, "Look at me."

Zaknafein did, his eyes shining with happiness and relief. Drizzt leaned in before he even knew what he was doing, and their lips were touching. When he had been with Berg'inyon, the Baenre boy had never showed any such passion, but somehow the secondboy knew how to make it work.

Drizzt was still panting from the match. His breath came in shallow gasps, feeding into Zaknafein's mouth. The boy's hands tried to find something to ground him as he swayed. The weapons master hadn't responded yet, and then all of a sudden Drizzt found himself sprawled out on the floor, though not in the way he might have hoped for.

His stomach stung and twisted as he looked up at his mentor, who had a positively shocked expression on his face. "I'm sorry. I have overstepped my bounds, and I should not feel this way for you – "

Zaknafein's growing horror was apparent as he knelt down to where he had knocked the boy down, "No, do not say that. How you feel is not your choice. I would love you that way in a heartbeat, if only I did not want to take advantage of you. There is nothing wrong with such desires towards fellow males, if that is what you are worried about."

"Oh, but you would not be taking advantage, for I have desired you since we first sparred – since we met, if I am being truthful. Besides, it would not be my first time with a male. I know what to do." Drizzt replied, his lavender eyes glowing. He leaned up for another kiss, but the older drow stopped him.

"I cannot. _We_ cannot. It would not be right and I could never think of you that way for the sole reason that you are my son."

At that, Drizzt's heart stopped. The sense of elation and recognition was smothered by shame, and he covered his face with his hands, lying back on the stone ground with a groan that he had not foreseen this.

"Do not despair, my child. You will find one to love in your long life, but he will not be me."


	3. The One that Could Have Been

**A/N: The only chapter containing Kellindil, contains spoilers for the books up until Sojourn.**

"Go on ahead to Maldobar to rid yourselves of this man," Kellindil offered. "Tell McGristle what you will, but not the truth, for he would come after me. I have kin in these mountains; together they and I will watch out for our dark-skinned friend and see that he causes no harm, nor comes to any."

"Agreed," said Dove. "I will, I assume, see you again in Sundabar once this is over with. You had better hide so that McGristle does not see where you are going. I shall come up with something convincing for him."

She turned and started away, off to search for the other members of the party, and Kellindil automatically went off in the direction where he had seen the drow, discretely settling behind a cluster of boulders, where he could clearly view the majority of the rubble. He was confident that he would find the drow.

After a few minutes, he could hear Roddy roaring at something in what could have been a multitude of emotions. Whatever Dove had told him, the elf felt that it was safe to continue looking for the mysterious dark elf once the yelling had faded in the distance.

He began to scale the mountainside, following his instincts and the tiny glimpses that he'd caught earlier of a dark cloak. Drizzt heard him coming long before he saw him. Of course, for the many wounds he now bore, it would have been fruitless to try and escape, particularly as the elf's hearing was at least at good as his own. Kellindil found him about an hour after he'd started to look, trying to clean his cuts using water from a small creek.

"Use this," He said in the drow tongue, tossing a flask at him. Drizzt caught it midair, and looked over at him with no surprise but more than a little anxiety in his lavender eyes.

"Go on, drink it. If I meant to kill you, I would not use poison." Kellindil knew that his reassurances probably sounded more like a threat than anything else, but he did not back down.

Drizzt nodded slowly at him, and took a hesitant sip, then downing the whole flask. He was desperate. "Thank you. Why did you come? Your companions would be upset if they knew."

"They do not know, nor shall they. I came alone, and they continued on," the elf replied.

"I know that you are alone. You have not answered my question." Drizzt stared straight at him.

"Perhaps I do not want you to see harm. I might find you intriguing, and maybe I am simply curious about your story. I would never know it if you died."

"I know that I am in no position to ask anything of you, but I want to know that I can be accepted here, where everyone sees nothing but my skin."

"A justified thing to want to know." Kellindil paused, studying the drow, who looked positively broken, physically and mentally, "In truth I came for all three reasons."

Drizzt had hardly even noticed how quickly his wounds were healing, and he stood up to properly face the elf. He dropped his weapons to the ground, as well as what remained of his cloak, making it obvious that he was not trying to threaten him. To his surprise, Kellindil did the same.

"I suppose I owe you a story, then." Kellindil had trouble with a few drow words, and he was moved to tears when Drizzt described to him the surface raid, but he listened to every detail attentively and respectfully, drinking it in. He skipped over the odd affair that he'd had with Berg'inyon, but the drow told him of his feelings towards Zaknafein, at which point the elf had looked at him with different eyes, searching for something other than what he'd seen before. Kellindil stifled a laugh when Drizzt revealed that Zak was his father, laughed openly at some of Belwar's antics, and moved to embrace Drizzt when he came to the horrendous situation with Zak's corpse, as well as when his friend Clacker had been killed. He became so entranced that night fell and he didn't put it together when Drizzt led the events of his life up to the present moment.

When Drizzt stopped and silence fell, the sound of crickets, the stream and the mountain wind were all that was left. Kellindil let that sit for many long minutes, before he said, "I can not imagine a world with no stars. If all knew your story, the Underdark and the surface both would be better places for it."

The elf was sitting directly next to him, for they had moved over the course of those hours, and Drizzt looked up into his eyes, his own shining brightly. "There are stars in your eyes. You were destined to come above, and I do not think that your kin could have extinguished those stars given a thousand years. You are stronger than anyone I know."

Kellindil laughed at himself, "What am I saying? I know you, but you know me not. I fear my tale is far less exciting, and hardly as moving as yours. I do not wish to bore you, Drizzt Do'Urden."

Drizzt smiled, "You would not bore me. You must tell me something, at least."

The elf nodded, and after a moment's consideration, said, "My first love died as well. Not of anything so sinister as sacrifice, but old age, I fear, is quite a devilish foe, and unavoidable. He was human. They are, unfortunately, far more susceptible than you or I, and so intriguingly charming."

A moment passed between them of mutual recognition, "How long ago was it?"

"Nearly two hundred years now. I still remember everything about him."

"Do I remind you of him?" Drizzt leaned in a bit closer.

"Yes. He, too, suffered at the hands of his kin, and he was stronger for it. Am I at all like your Zaknafein?"

"Not in the slightest," Kellindil closed the gap. They stayed there, content with each others' mouths and thoughts and hands for a long time. Soon enough, though, Kellindil desired more.

"I think you and I understand one another," He pushed the drow back, and began to loosen the ties on his tunic. He whispered, leaning over him, "Would you enter me?"

Drizzt stiffened, but he also grew nervous. "I do not truly know you. I do not think it wise."

"If you do not want me…" His face said that it was fine, but his eyes lost their fire.

The drow bit his lip and frowned, "I do. It's just…" His breathing grew less and less steady, and tears welled up. One fell down his cheek.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I should have known that after all you've been through, I'm being too rash. After all, why should you trust me?" Kellindil rolled off of him and stood, cursing himself for not having more control. Then, against his better judgement, he lay back down next to Drizzt, wrapping his arms around him in comfort. They eventually fell asleep like that on the ground.

When Kellindil awoke, the drow was gone.


	4. The One who Was

**A/N: Wulfgar! At last! Spoilers for the books up until The Crystal Shard.**

Wulfgar, son of Beornegar, was incredulous at the idea that someone, particularly one of non-barbarian descent, could teach him anything about the ways of battle. Nonetheless, he followed Bruenor diligently, somewhat anxious to meet whomever the dwarf had deemed capable of instructing him. Bruenor himself had, after all, beaten the barbarian boy years ago.

Walking quickly on the bright tundra, they came to the arranged meeting point. Before them was a rather small man, with his cowl low as he leaned coolly against the boulder behind him. The three of them were silent for a long moment as he and his future teacher assessed each other.

He felt proud under the man's hidden gaze, and stood as tall as he could in the glare of the sun, Aegis-fang resting on his shoulder. The man moved suddenly, gracefully off the rock, and pulled off his hood.

The next moment for Wulfgar was one of shock, for the man was no man at all – but a drow, an evil elf! However, that realization came second to being taken aback at this elf's sheer beauty. He was not beautiful in the ways that a woman can be, nor did he exude strength in the manner of the best fighters of the tribes. Instead, his was a unique combination of foreign physical perfection and the waves of self-assured power simply rolling off of him.

As soon as he came to his senses, the barbarian turned to Bruenor pleaded half-conscious of his own words, "A dark elf! Sorcerous dog! Surely, you cannot ask this of me! I have no need nor desire to learn the magical deceits of his decrepit race!"

"He'll teach ye to fight – no more," Bruenor said.

Though he would never admit it, Wulfgar was terrified of his own initial reaction to the drow, and wished for nothing more than to have this over with. He snorted defiantly, "What can I learn of fighting from a weakling elf? My people are bred as true warriors!" He eyed Drizzt with what he sorely hoped looked like open contempt. "Not trickster dogs like his kind!"

The elf did not respond, merely looked to Bruenor, who seemed to understand what was going through his head, and nodded subtly, smirking all the while as if in anticipation. Faster than Wulfgar had thought possible, Drizzt's two blades were in his hands.

The barbarian raised his hammer in retaliation, but before he could move for a strike, the drow had hit both of his cheeks – thankfully, with the flat sides – several times, and rounded back to aim for the back of his knee. Wulfgar managed to avoid that blow, but left himself unbalanced. As quickly as they had come out, the scimitars were back at Drizzt's hips, and his boot had landed squarely on Wulfgar's chest with more force than seemed possible for someone of so small a frame.

He fell onto his back and stared up at the elf who had so easily bested him. Bruenor spoke then, "Now that ye understand each other, I'll be leavin' ye."

Both of them hid their smiles, though not so well, for Wulfgar could see them still as Drizzt replied with a wink, "Give me a few tendays."

Wulfgar scrambled to one knee, holding Aegis-fang once more, only this time it was in reverence rather than in challenge. The drow looked at him almost like a wolf looking at a deer. It should have been terrifying, but instead it excited the barbarian.

"Heed his words, boy," the dwarf instructed one last time. "Or he'll cut ye into pieces small enough for a vulture's gullet."

And Wulfgar did not doubt it.

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Within the first tenday of practicing, they had fallen into an simple rhythm – Drizzt would leave Wulfgar to his own devices during the day, and at night they sparred. While the barbarian boy had tried to convince himself that he would gain self-control in regards to his inexplicable feelings for his teacher, it only got worse for him.

He learned more of the elf, of his unshakable moral code and his unmatchable fighting skills, and all that he came to know was unbearably attractive. Wulfgar also appreciated the way that the drow would often, despite the cold of the tundra, go shirtless.

Drizzt could easily tell that Wulfgar was in a similar position as he himself had been with Zaknafein, except, of course, the fact that Drizzt was in no way related to the boy. He could not deny the masterpiece that was the barbarian's body, and had more than once found himself entertaining thoughts of what might happen, should he acknowledge Wulfgar. He would tell himself that his first and foremost duty was to train the boy, and that anything else would hinder him in that. So, he did not bring it up.

That was until, on one such night that was strangely warm as to merit a bare chest, he had beaten Wulfgar wholly. The boy had his back on the ground, sweat glistening on his forehead, his breath coming in quick bursts of steam, and a scimitar at his neck. He was not entirely on his game, and Drizzt could tell.

"You must focus entirely on the fight, or else you will learn nothing," Drizzt sheathed his blades and held out a hand to help Wulfgar up. To his surprise, the proud barbarian took it, and pulled.

He saw the tensing of his muscles and felt him push off the ground, yet he went along and acted astonished when the boy slammed him down into the dust and straddled him firmly. He could clearly feel Wulfgar's hardness through the layers of fabric and tried his best not to react to that.

He still stammered when he spoke next, "N-now that you've got me here, what do you plan to do with me?" He didn't let the boy speak, "And who says I'll agree to it?"

"I think that you will," and to prove his point, Wulfgar lowered a hand to where Drizzt was beginning to stiffen. The drow arched into it before he changed his mind.

In the next moment, they were engulfed in a shroud of darkness, and Drizzt had broken free in the barbarian's sudden confusion. He received a kick to the back that he couldn't see before Drizzt cleared their vision, "Don't tell me that wasn't fair. You cheated, so I did in turn."

Wulfgar rolled onto his back, groaning, "So, you admit that it was at least distracting, if not pleasurable."

The elf gave him a look that told him that he would have to do better, and walked back to his cave, swaying his hips ever so slightly as he went, "I want you to contemplate your lesson and think of the ways you might improve. We shall resume at sundown tomorrow."


End file.
